30 May 2006

I'm pretty sure my duck has a spine. But sometimes, I like to join the non-chordates in a little carnival....

From time to time, people ask me exactly what I do for a living. The simple answer is that I spend the day working my duck off. But I suppose it's only fair to offer a brief glimpse of the labours and travails that my duck has to endure in pursuit of duty and diligence, with some illustrations of a typical working (albeit overseas) day from my duck's eye view...

This is what I mean when I say my day was full of crab.

Alternatively, I have to pursue multiple appointments and in the process of doing so, typically encounter obstacles that block my path, such as these white-suited gatekeepers that prevented my duck from stepping further.

It's also thirsty work, and my duck has to seek out regular sources of refreshment.

I am more interested in those chilled cans of coconut juice. Really.

Ditto for those two bottles of booze. I must admit that drinking on the job is often part of my job.

This is a product of Thai Beverage plc (the bottle, not the holder). Once, when assigned to cover the market for fermented malt beverages, my duck dutifully collected a dozen of so quarts and pints for research purposes, which were kept into a drawer at the bottom of my table. Unfortunately, a thirsty colleague discovered the loot primary data one day and proceeded to share the material with others in the office who happily joined in a thoroughly unsupervised analysis of the organoleptic properties of my carefully amassed hoard.

Ya, sometimes you really feel like swinging your head in frustration at the havoc wrecked on minds by swinging short skirts clueless teammates.

By the hinges of our front door there is a flattened and dried carcass of a half-grown gecko that has been there for as long as we can remember. Fortunately, we don't think about this deceased lizard too much, much less lay our eyes on it, for it is certainly not a pretty sight.

Most people don't really spend time pondering the significance of these cicaks (Malay for gecko – a nickname bestowed on my younger brother in the days when he was crawling all over the house) that prowl our walls and dance on our ceilings. It's likely that the (generally) quiet ubiquity of these reptilian pest busters renders them the blessing of non-attention, even by people who would otherwise regard sharing their living space with 'slimey creepy-crawlies" an intolerable situation, until the occasional individual leaps onto some lap or unfortunate duck. But I am pretty sure the general public will eventually come around to the realisation that our clean and green lifestyle is inimical to coexistence with these filthy scaled beasts that are relicts from the lacksaidal kampung days of our forefathers and clamour for their complete extermination. After all, with the widespread fogging that takes place throughout our estates, who needs the aid of disgusting little bug-eating creeps?

The social undesirability of geckos is further underlined by the ridiculous means by which they stick to vertical surfaces, which is similar to the method used by flies (another point against these lizards). Millions of tiny hair called setae on a gecko's feet create an intermolecular attraction called the van der Waals force that allow the lizard to defy gravity and adher to smooth substrates. But such meaningless examinations of biological subtleties are beside the point in this practical nation, where research must be "targeted to achieve scientific results that can yield maximum benefit for the country." Scientific results, after all, can be predetermined to generate data and applications with immediate commercial value. We don't need obscure undertakings such as visions of interconnected computers that would allow ivory tower researchers to seamlessly exchange obtuse data with each other! But my duck digresses. It suffices to note that only pollycoddled academics in decadent Western institutions with too much free time would bother with tasks such as designing a Stickybot with feet bearing synthetic setae that might allow the creation of gecko-like climbing gloves and shoes...

In the day, geckos make themselves scarce, as the silhouette of juicy tetrapods on white-washed outdoor surfaces attracts predators such as collared kingfishers. Come dusk, they emerge to greet a swirling flight of flies, moths and other nocturnal darters that pay homage to the manifold moons on man-made masts. The lizards will gather in the vicinity of prime vertical real estate: the extremities of lamp posts and sheltered wealth of coated tubes that serve as beacons to a nightly feast. A pecking order becomes apparent, and dominant individuals will chirp and click with the indignance of cold blood as they evict sneaks who dare trespass onto the heart of their domain.

At least three species of local geckos have found succour in the dwellings of man: the common house gecko (Hemidactylus frenatus), the flat-tailed gecko (Cosymbotes platyurus) and the four-clawed gecko (Gehyra mutilata). These species have relatively drab colours, ranging from a tan beige to dirty brown, that blend well with the stained shades of many buildings. Meanwhile, close observation of tree trunks in the children's hour will yield sightings of mottled geckos laying claim to their patch of bark. I am not sure if these are conspecific populations of any of the three that are commensal with man, but they may well be members of some of the other geckos species found on this island, perhaps the spotted house gecko (Gekko monarchus) or dwarf gecko (Hemiphyllodactylus typus). The huge Tokay gecko (Gekko gekko) is also associated with humans, but I have come across no sign of it in Singapore so far. There are at least fourothernative geckos, which are restricted to forested habitats.

In his memoir of a childhood on the island of Corfu (and one of my very first natural history books), Gerald Durrell recounts a personable co-tenant of his bedroom called Geronimo:

"Geronimo seemed to be a cut above the other geckos... He rose earlier than others of his kind, coming out from beneath his stone while the wall and house were still suffused with pale sunset-light. He would scuttle up the flaky white plaster precipice until he reached my bedroom window, and poke his head over the sill, peering about curiously and nodding his head rapidly, two or three times, whether in greeting to me or in satisfaction at finding the room as he left it...

"Watching Geronimo's stalking tactics was quite an education. A lacewing or a moth, having spun round the lamp until it was dizzy, would flutter up and settle on the ceiling in the white circle of lamplight printed there. Geronimo, hanging upside down in his corner, would stiffen. He would nod his head two or three times very rapidly, and then start to edge across the ceiling cautiously, millimetre by millimetre, his bright eyes on the insect in a fixed stare. Slowly he would slide over the plaster until he was six inches or so away from his prey, whereupon he stopped for a second and you could see his padded toes moving as he made his grip on the plaster more secure. His eyes would become more protuberant with excitement, what he imagined to be a look of blood-curling ferocity would spread over his face, the tip of his tail would twitch minutely, and then he would skim across the ceiling as smoothly as a drop of water, there would be a faint snap, and he would turn round, an expression of smug happiness on his face, the lacewing inside his mouth with its legs and wings trailing over his lips like a strange, quivering walrus moustache...

[On Geronimo's attitude to rivals] "The curious thing was that, unlike the other geckos, he did not attack the head or body of his enemy, He made straight for his opponent's tail, and seizing it in his mouth, about half an inch from the tip, he would hang on like a bulldog and shake it from side to side. The newcomer.. would drop his tail and.... having made sure his rival had departed, Geronimo would then settle down and proceed to eat the tail, a disgusting habit of which I strongly disapproved..."

The 800 or so species of geckos are found in all continents except Antarctica, but have radiated most strongly in the tropics. Even far flung New Zealand harbours at least 37 species in two genera, including an extinct species that reached half a metre in length. Closer to home, the southern tip of Peninsular Malaysia and its outlying islands are notable hotspots for geckos, which attain a diversity unmatched by any other lizard group. In a checklist of reptiles found in the Seribuat Archipelago, the authors note that H. frenatus is a champion coloniser that has reached and thrives in much of the archipelago from barren rocks to mature ecosystems such as Tioman. Competition with G. mutilata is observed to be highly intense and it was suggested that "whichever species colonises an island first will eventually exclude the other species." The islands are also home to a gecko (Lepidodactylus lugubris) that exists only a females which lay eggs containing genetic clones, an evolutionary anomaly shared with a fewother lizard species in distant lands.

A. felinus is a slow-moving, catatonic animal found in vegetation near streams. According to the article's author, L. Lee Grismer of the Department of Biology, La Sierra University Riverside, California, this species is the most ancient of all living gecko lineages. The Rock Geckos are described by Lee as having "duck-like" flattened
heads with widened snouts and low centres of gravity that splay the
animal out flat on boulders. They are also diurnal, unlike most other
geckos. Southern Malaysia has four species, three of which are island
endemics.

Bent-toed geckos are a large genus with at least 90 species, including five recently described species from Malaysia: C. aurensis which is endemic to Pulau Aur; C. semenanjungensis and C. swordei, which are endemic to southern Peninsular Malaysia; C. seribuatensis (endemic to the Seribuat Archipelago); and C. tiomanensis, which is endemic to Tioman island. Lee notes that the Bent-Toed geckos are picky animals that require specific microhabitats. Smaller species live on small trees, perching on the end of twigs and leaves. Larger species are found on tree trunks and rocks. The most specialised species is C. seribuatensis, which is restricted to seven tiny islands where it lives in the harsh intertidal zone, where it hunts small invertebrates at the turn of the tide.

Lee ends with the distressingly familiar warning that these geckos [as well as tiny fish], with their high microhabitat specificity, face a larger threat in the widespread clearing of lowland rainforest in Malaysia for oil palm plantations. A few "isolated mountain ranges amid a sea of oil palms are all that is left of the native rainforest in some areas," he writes. "If not for the existence of the Endau-Rompin National Forest in this general area, which thus far has resisted habitat conversion and has been host to a number of scientific expeditions, our knowledge of the natural history of this portion of southern peninsular Malaysia would be all but lost."

The offshore islands are also no safe havens, as Lee foresees growing inroads of disrupting infrastructure that accompany the conversion of these biodiversity hotspots into tourist getaways. Pulau Tioman, for instance, is under siege by developers who seek to build a marina and airport along a portion of virgin, unspoiled coastline. Geckos, it seems, can't win against the might of lounge lizards...

27 May 2006

While waiting in a queue for an ATM yesterday evening, my duck was suddenly aroused from its wakeful slumber when the two young ladies in front of me started to hug and kiss with gentle passion. I thought of asking if they would consent to have a photo taken in situ for the simple pleasure of capturing a moment of unabashed surrender. But I doubt they would take too kindly to the sight of my quacking and quivering duck spouting queries of misconstruable qualities.

I had to throw out Angel's old shoebox after she filled it with brown stuff. In its place, I dug out an old box that once stored Apple merchandise. Every cat needs a carton.

Tetrapod Zoology is a blog that is more like a biology journal, with delightful nuggets of juicy facts crammed into every detailed and fully referenced post. Naish's most recent post enlightens my duck to the existence of a strange group of fellow anatids found in the extremeties of South America. Known as steamer ducks, these birds are largely flightless but more than make up for this deficiency by a reputation for high aggression. Males would readily fight and kiill other waterbirds, grabbing their necks and beating them to death with their hard wing knobs. I wonder if my duck could learn to do likewise?

Sue (the cast of her fossilised skeleton to be exact) poses for my duck! Reliable sources inform my duck that Sue indeed did not have a duck!

Ol' Stan. He's a bit smaller than Sue. In the world of T. rexes, the biggest boys are the girls.

The forelimbs of a Deinocheirus mirificus alone are taller than my erected duck! Imagine how big the full thing was! Deinocheirus is placed in the order Theropoda (beast-footed dinosaurs) with the likes of Tyranosaurs and Dromaesaurs, but their exact relationships with other dinosaurs are uncertain.

Talarurus plicatospineus, an ankylosaur from Mongolia. As you can see on the right side, this dinosaur has balls and was probably not shy at using them to prove its point. The head is rather puny looking though, unlike the skull of the related ankylosaur shown behind the animal. Another dinosaur with impressive headgear is Dracorex hogwartsia, which belongs to the helmet-headed pachycephalosaur group. Unlike most of its kin, this beast has an ornate skull that bears an uncanny resemblance to a Hungarian Horntail and should inspire more fear and loathing amongst those who believe evolution and witchcraft are conspiring to make life on earth no less intolerable than it already is.

Amongst the first creatures to greet the visitor to the exhibition is a Tarbosaurus bataar posed in pursuit of a Gallimimus bullatus (a flock was shown in the first Jurassic Park film). Both species lived in what is now Central Asia. Gallimimus (chicken mimic) is one of the larger ornithomimosaurs (bird mimics or ostrich dinosaurs) which even early paleontologists found to be remarkably similiar to birds in build. Some believe it uses its beak in a duck-like filter-feeding manner, but if so, shouldn't it then be called Anatimimus? My duck doth protestesh! Tarbosaurus is a close, albeit smaller, relative of T. rex and this specimen would do better devouring the egg-stealing mammal shown in the foreground.

Cryolophosaurus elliotti. This allosaurid with a strange crest on its skull was discovered in Antarctica. According to one source, the pompadour-like crest led to the beast having the nickname Elvisaurus.

Deinonychus antirrhopus. This sickle-clawed dinosaur is more akin (in build and size) to those depicted in the Jurassic Park franchise. Velociraptor mongoliensis is a much smaller creature with a slenderer skull.

A planted tank in one of the Science Centre's regular galleries.

One afternoon at the Dinosaurs exhibition is barely enough to scratch the surface. My duck took in no more than a third of the exhibits. There's also a significant corner focusing on extinction in the Singapore and Southeast Asian context, including a peaty tank with a school of Paedocyprisprogenetica. The only major item missing are sauropod casts. I recall seeing a Mamenchisaurus at the earlier exhibition decades ago. When will they bring the Berlin Brachiosaurus (aka Giraffatitan)?